


To The Best of my Recollection

by Kate Andrews (k8andrewz)



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: 1000-5000 Words, Amnesia, Flashback, M/M, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-14
Updated: 2009-05-14
Packaged: 2017-10-04 02:36:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k8andrewz/pseuds/Kate%20Andrews
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can't understand why it disturbs him so deeply.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To The Best of my Recollection

**Author's Note:**

> for [](http://yahtzee63.livejournal.com/profile)[**yahtzee63**](http://yahtzee63.livejournal.com/)'s [Journey to Drabble](http://yahtzee63.livejournal.com/404795.html) challenge.

The first one happens three weeks later, when Kirk is still back at the academy, packing up his dead roommate's belongings. He figures he owes the guy that much, and he's a little sad, but mostly numb about it. He didn't know the guy well, barely ever saw him, and so it's not a specific grief. It's just one part of the bigger sadness the nearly empty corridors and quads give him.

He catches sight of himself in the glass on Charlie's picture of his parents - sees the nearly healed scrapes in the faint reflection, then he's hit with the most intense double image of an older man, heavier and laughing hysterically. He doesn't recognize him, but then he recognizes the laugh. It's his own laugh, and he's got a double sense of self, too, a sense of deep fondness for the man before him.

He's not himself. Then, though his face doesn't move in the here and now, he feels himself give a low, soft chuckle. He hears it, and doesn't recognize the sound. Then the older Kirk claps his shoulder and squeezes it and says through the laughter, "Spock, you didn't really think I--"

Kirk drops the picture, shattering the glass and he takes several steps back. He runs to the bathroom mirror and examines his face, finds it still young and tight and unlined. His heart won't stop pounding, and he can't get the sound of Spock's laughter out of his ears. *Spock's* laughter.

He splashes his face with cold water until reality reasserts itself. But the memory doesn't dim or go back to wherever it came from (he knows exactly where it came from). It's a sweet memory, full of fondness, and he can't understand why it disturbs him so deeply. But it does, so he tries not to think about it. The problem is, it's as fresh and clear as if it happened five minutes ago, and it refuses to fade.

*

The next time one of these memories erupts from its hiding place is months later, aboard the Enterprise, in the middle of a mildly heated argument with Spock. He's mildly heated and arguing, Spock is being an impeccably logical douchebag and he may be correct, but that doesn't mean he's *right*. Jim could tell him to back down, that's an order, but he can't let go of his desire to convince Spock that he's wrong.

It hits him mid-sentence, the unmistakably solid pain of his fist connecting with someone's jaw. His jaw. Kirk's jaw and then the rest of it hits him, the blinding white *rage*. He doesn't want to kill Kirk, he wants to give him more pain than he has ever experienced, more pain than vast amounts he knows the man can handle, then he wants to give him even more. He wants to break the man. He wants to taste his blood and he feels this inhuman howl tear out of his throat. He sees the terror in Kirk's eyes - he is a little older than the Jim being hit by these memories is, but not by much. A distant, observing part of Jim thinks that there is no *way* he'd ever wear his hair like that - the terror in Kirk's eyes and it arouses so many parts of him. He desires Kirk's pain. He is nothing but desire as he flings Kirk to the sand and there is no one and nothing here to stop him.

He grins as he watches Kirk scramble away on his belly. He knows he's sick and he's as powerless as Kirk to stop this and he has already lost his mind and he *loves* it and as he pounces atop Kirk's scrambling--

"Captain. Captain Kirk. Captain. *Jim.*"

Violently, Kirk flinches away from Spock's touch. He rubs at the spot where Spock had been gripping his forearm and realizes he's panting.

"You are unwell. We can continue this pointless discussion later. We will now go to sickbay."

"I'm fine."

Spock gives him the ever so slightly dubious head tilt that is his equivalent of "Bullshit", and says, "Or, I can contact Dr. McCoy, tell him what just occurred, and he can come and sedate you and have security carry you to sickbay. I will allow you to choose."

"I'm *fine*, Spock."

Spock's hand goes to the communicator on his chest and Kirk catches it. "All right, all right. I'll go."

"Why are you suddenly so afraid?" When Kirk drops Spock's hand, Spock tilts his head a little further. The one that means 'more than a little curious'. "Why are you afraid of me?"

Kirk laughs. "Afraid of you? Are you kidding?"

"No."

"That's 'illogical'," Kirk says sarcastically.

After a few moments, Spock says, "Yes. It is. Now, we are going to Sickbay."

"We? You don't trust me to go?"

"No. But if I allow you to go unescorted and the incident reoccurs, injuring you, I will have to endure another one of McCoy's colorfully worded lectures on allowing you to hurt yourself through your own stupidity, and I would prefer not to."

"Come on then, Bartleby. Let's go."

"Your comparison is in some ways apt."

"How is it you manage to make that sound like you're surprised I can read?"

*

McCoy finds nothing wrong with him and pronounces it a panic attack. Jim accepts the diagnosis without protest, which makes McCoy suspicious, but hey, it's his diagnosis, and he's got nothing tangible, so eventually, he has to let the Captain of the damn ship go do his job.

*

The eighth one happens a month and a half later when he's beneath this really pretty, really filthy, really *loud* Ambassador they're escorting back to Earth. Out of bed, the black haired woman is almost as prim, proper, and reserved as Spock. In bed (or in the shower, or on the couch) she bossy and bitchy and Jim loves it. He's pretty sure she doesn't like him, but she sure acts like she likes his dick.

She's riding him, and she's just come for the second time when he is somewhere else entirely. He's kneeling over someone's prone body, tentatively kissing their shoulder. He is so full of reverence and the nervous anticipation - mostly nervousness - isn't something Jim has felt in bed since he was about fifteen. He sits back on his heels and traces a slow, meandering line up the man's back. "Jim," he says. "I would like you to tell me what you enjoy."

Jim looks over his shoulder at him and gives him a wicked grin. A grin full of obscene promise, then he rolls to his back and folds his hands behind his head. This Jim is in his mid thirties, and he's got thicker arms, several nasty looking old scars peppering his chest, and a stomach that - while still in shape - isn't as flat as it once was. His penis is fully erect. Jim licks his lips and lifts a knee, knocks it against his leg. Jim meets his eyes, and, expression softening, says, "You're the genius. You figure it out."

He takes a deep breath as he leans forward, planting his hands on either side of Jim. Then he lowers his mouth to--

"Hello. *Hey*." She smacks him - not hard - across the face. "Are you with me? I don't care if you're thinking about someone else, but--"

Gently but firmly, Jim pushes her off of him. "I've got to go," he says.

"Are you *kidding*?" she asks, raising her voice.

"No." Jim gets dressed as fast as he can.

*

He tracks down Spock on the observation deck. Spock has a book in his lap, but he's staring out at the starfield and he doesn't look over when Jim enters.

"Hey," Jim says. "Look, I've got--" He starts again. "Would you mind if I asked you a question?"

"In all likelihood no, but I suppose it depends on the question. I cannot say for sure."

"Right. Okay. Right."

Spock looks up and scrutinizes him. Then he inhales deeply. "You are troubled. Usually, sexual activity relaxes you."

Kirk grimaces. "This has nothing to do with my sexual activity."

"No?"

"Well, not *mine*."

"I am not inclined to discuss my own sexual activity, and I was under the impression that you--"

"Look. No. Just," Jim rubs his face. "I don't know who else I can ask about this, and I can't take it and I need it to stop, okay?"

"It might be advisable to reduce the frequency and number of your sexual partners, but I don't believe you need to stop."

"God. Just... we're sleeping together," he blurts out.

Spock actually blinks. "Lieutenant Uhura would be surprised to hear that." He appears to give the matter a little thought. "Perhaps not entirely surprised."

"No! I mean the other you, and the other me from his timeline. Wait. What?"

"He told you this?"

"He showed me this when he did the," he holds up his hand, three fingers out in an approximation of the mind meld gesture. "Now back up. Why wouldn't she be surprised?"

"Because she is an observant woman."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Why do you find this so disturbing?"

"Because I keep *seeing* it. And... feeling it."

"You find these memories distracting?"

Kirk rolls his eyes. "You mean when all of a sudden I'm *you* and I'm fucking my own ass for fifteen seconds while I need to be *doing my job*? Yeah. That's a little distracting."

"Fascinating."

"Why are you not freaked out about this?"

"When have you known me to 'freak out' about anything?"

"You've got a point." Kirk sits beside Spock, then sighs and puts his face in his hands. "I just need it to stop. Just tell me how to make it stop, okay?"

"Do you trust me?"

Kirk looks up. "What kind of question is that?"

"A straightforward one."

"Yeah I trust you. I wouldn't tell you if I didn't trust you."

"I may be able to extract the memories, but you will need to have a relaxed and open mind."

"You can get them out?"

"I believe so."

"All of them? Because they keep just," he makes an explosive gesture with both hands. "Randomly."

"I believe so."

"With the," he makes the three fingered gesture.

"Yes."

"No offense, but I'd rather not have a whole new set of your stuff rattling around up there."

"The other Spock performed the meld while emotionally compromised. I am not. There is little danger that I will leave 'stuff'."

"You sure?"

"Ninety-six point four percent certain."

"That's good enough for me. Though, hey, if you feel like leaving some pictures of Lt. Uhura--"

"That will not happen."

"A man can dream."

Spock doesn't respond. He stares at Jim's face for long enough that Jim feels uncomfortable, but before he can make another joke, Spock's fingers settle against his face. Jim braces himself.

"You will need to relax."

"I'm trying. Do you want me to--" Then, his mouth falls open and Spock is *in*.

It feels different than the last time. Not quite as smooth and steady, but there's also not the push of information. Just this hot/cold/numb/hot flow of something else in and around and through his thoughts. Soaking into him, rain on parched earth when the corn's been wilting for weeks, gentle, unceasing pounding of an infinite number of drops absorbed into the fissures like the land will never be able to soak it all up. Like the land's thirst will never be slaked, but then the dirt is full and the water pools, flows down the furrows, a flash flood sweeping the crops and it looks like they're going to be washed all the way out to sea.

But the roots hold, and eventually the rain slows. The rain stops. The last of the water drains from the fields and the sun breaks through the clouds, so bright. Blindingly bright on his face, so hot for a few moments until a gentle breeze stirs, ruffling gently through his hair and making the tall, green stalks of corn sway.

Jim sighs, feeling the first brief moment of contentment since school let out and--

Abruptly, the light on his face isn't the Iowa sun but the cool, dim artificial wash of the observation deck's overhead lighting. Rustling corn replaced by the omnipresent hum of the engines and on the bench beside him, Spock is sitting ramrod straight, head bowed, hands folded in his lap.

Jim reaches for the memories, but there's nothing there anymore. He feels the absence. It's like when he knows he *should* know a woman's name after a particularly hard night of drinking and fucking. He remembers calling it out, but it's just not there anymore and no amount of wracking his brain is going to bring it back. Oh thank God. Thank God. He considers making a joke, but he is too damn grateful to make light of this. He lays one hand over Spock's folded ones and says, sincerely, "Thank you."

Spock's eyes fly open and he looks around the room, unfocused for a few moments before settling on Kirk's face. He lets out what sounds like a long held breath, then he's examining Kirk's features as if for the first time. Very softly, he says, "Oh."

"What?"

Spock looks away, then pulls his hands from Kirk's and stands facing the floor-to-ceiling window. He clasps his hands behind his back and says, "You are welcome."

"Great. Thank God you got rid of them."

"They will no longer be a burden to you."

Spock doesn't reply, and Kirk rises, steps over the bench and stands next to Spock. Spock's lips are pressed together tightly and his eyes are a little wider than usual. It's not an expression Jim's used to seeing on Spock's face, though to be fair, Jim's not really used to seeing any expression on Spock's face. "You did get rid of them, right?"

"I believe they are no longer a part of your mind."

Kirk's stomach drops. "But they're part of yours? You were supposed to get rid of them. I thought you were going to get rid of them."

"I rid you of them, as you asked."

"Jesus, Spock, I didn't mean for you to get stuck with them."

"They were troubling you. Interfering with your duties as Captain. My mental discipline prevents them from doing the same to me."

"They were pretty... I don't remember exactly what they were, but they weren't all fun. I remember that. If it was just thoughts of us screwing, I wouldn't have needed to... Spock. Spock, look at me."

Spock's gaze remains fixed on the starfield.

"Please."

"Do not let my possession of the memories trouble you, Captain. That would defeat the purpose of this exercise."

"Tell me you're going to be okay with this."

"That question is irrelevant."

"Not to me, it isn't. Can't you just forget them?"

"I find that I do not wish to."

Kirk stares, dumbfounded. "I'm pretty sure there was some pretty fucked up stuff in there. And Vulcans don't do fucked up. *Humans* do fucked up, I could have. I could have handled it. I didn't mean for you to have to--"

"I chose to. Now, if you will excuse me Captain, I am expected in engineering." Spock doesn't wait to be excused; he heads for the door.

"Spock!"

Spock pauses and turns, and for just a moment, his blank expression softens. "Do not worry, Jim. I remain... your friend."

Jim's never heard Spock - this Spock - use that word with him before, and a chill passes over him. Then Spock's face is blank again, and the door is shutting behind him. Jim sits heavily on the bench and spends the next while staring out at the passing stars and trying to sort out his thoughts and feelings. His mind feels different, not just from the absence of the memories, but in another way he can't quite put his finger on. It feels more ordered and more tangled all at once, and that doesn't make sense, but it does feel familiar. New, and familiar all at once, and feels like he *should* find the changes disturbing. He should wonder what the hell Spock did and what of Kirk he saw while he was in there.

And he does. But he can't bring himself to feel troubled by the changes. He feels something he can't put a name to, but at least now, he's pretty sure the emotion is his own. He got what he wanted and he can't undo it and if Spock says he's fine, he's unlikely to change his tune any time soon.

He stands and runs his fingers through his hair and decides to go find some paperwork to do. Even though he hates paperwork. He usually hates paperwork. No, he *always* hates paperwork, but now he finds the prospect oddly appealing.

He doubts Spock would have deliberately tweaked that about him, but he probably wouldn't mind if it was a side effect and Jim finds that he doesn't mind either. If his dimming recollection of his feelings about the memories is any indication, he got the far better end of the deal, and what's done is done. If Spock wants the memories, he can have them. They were never Kirk's to begin with. He doesn't want them back, whatever they were.

As he strides purposefully down the corridor toward his quarters, whatever it was is already fading.

*

It's not until many decades later, when he's got acres and acres of his own *real* memories of Spock, that he sees the other ones again. He's on his back in the Iowa sunshine, staring up at the clouds, more content than he can remember being in a long time. Spock lies beside him, tracing the scars on his chest, and also some patches of whole, unbroken skin. "Curious," Spock says quietly.

"What's that?"

"The ways in which the course of our friendship mirrors that of our counterparts, and those in which it differs."

"Oh yeah? How would you know that?" Jim asks, leaning into his touch. Spock stares at him like he should know the answer to the question. After wracking his brain for a minute, Jim gives up and shrugs. A familiar, intimate presence tickles at the corner of his mind, then suddenly, it's like a hidden door has been unlocked. "I forgot about that. I hadn't thought about that since it happened."

"That was my intent."

Jim says, impulsively, "Tell me how they made you feel."

"At the time, I would have told you that they didn't."

Jim smirks. "And now?"

"Fear. Jealousy. Anger. Arousal. Frustration. Love."

Jim's smirk fades. Casually, he says, "His memories made you love me?"

"No. They showed me his love for you. They made me unable to deny my own."

"You did *not* love me back then. You could barely stand me most of the time."

"The two are not mutually exclusive."

Jim feels a little guilty when he says, "I didn't love you back then. I mean, I liked you. Sometimes. Even when you were driving me crazy, but I didn't love you."

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

"That is not necessary."

"Is that why you and Uhura--" Jim recalls that a few weeks after the incident, Spock and Uhura parted ways, romantically, for no apparent reason. Well, no reason that was apparent to him, since he'd forgotten all about Spock taking the memories. "I'm sorry."

"If we hadn't ended it, she might never had met her husband. I believe she would have forgiven you. Perhaps even thanked you."

Kirk feels a little better, but now he can't stop wondering. "Tell me some of them," he says. "Tell me a good one. Tell me about something we never did."

"If you wish, I can show you."

Kirk hesitates, but his curiosity wins in the end. "Go ahead," he says. Then Spock's hand settles on his face and the familiar embrace of his mind enfolds Jim's consciousness, and he's young again. He's looking at himself - and not himself - through Spock's eyes. He feels frustration, annoyance, and the struggle to control these unruly sentiments.

Then, he feels the very first flickers of something else, and the wonder that accompanies these strange new emotions. He has never felt like this before.


End file.
